


Wants and Needs

by Gorillazgal86, improfem



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Master/Servant, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Riding Crops, Safeword Use, Spanking, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Transformative Works Welcome, Vaguely historical good omens, master!Aziraphale, safeword, servant!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22421035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/improfem/pseuds/improfem
Summary: Aziraphale's eyebrow arched as Crowley sat in the chair, only after having received permission to do so. So often, the demon would sprawl himself across the nearest surface, invited or otherwise. And yet even when sitting right now, his posture was straighter, his gaze more attentive. Obedient, even.Aziraphale and Crowley have an arrangement. One could say it's mutually satisfying.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 251
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Wants and Needs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KalessinAstarno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalessinAstarno/gifts).



> For the lovely Kali, a belated birthday and housewarming gift <3

It had been a simple enough offer, all otherwise part of their arrangement spanning eons. Aziraphale had been having a particularly difficult time with winning the favour of a minor French royal to inspire the good works he was capable of and securing a soul for heaven. It should have been straightforward enough, however the Duc was unreceptive. Over a bottle of French wine, Crowley suggested tempting the reluctant royal -- provided the soul was won, surely the means justified the ends.

"Hell," Crowley said with a smirk, the white of his teeth just visible in the candlelight of the tavern they were meeting in. "I've got nothing on at the moment, I'll help you, if you'd like?"

“Help me with what, exactly?” Aziraphale said primly, straightening in his seat.    


Crowley settled his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands, his lashes just brushing across his cheeks as he smiled demurely at Aziraphale.    
  
“C’mon Aziraphale, you know what. I can help you find what makes him tick, find that little spark that has him devouring your every word and direction. Heaven will have it’s soul in no time and you can go back to collecting books. This is how I earn a living after all,” Crowley winked, playful mischief glinting in his eyes.   
  
Aziraphale swallowed, his hair standing on end at the seductive tone in Crowley’s voice. His fingers twitched nervously and played with the edge of his silk cravat. They’d been here before, just enough wine in the blood to ease Aziraphale’s worries and for Crowley’s ideas to sound especially enticing. 

But they’d also nearly been caught before. The wine, ideas and good conversation proving a heady drug, utterly irresistible. Chat and drink easily transforming into crushing kisses, discarded clothes and tangled limbs. There was a magnetic pull between them that they scarcely recognised until it was too late and the force between them unstoppable. 

Aziraphale remembered it all. He also remembered the infernal communication dropping through the letterbox and landing on his feet just as he was about to turn the knob to leave Crowleys’ after such an evening. Though the letter was light, the realisation that one of Crowley’s colleagues had been just inches away from seeing them parting -- it felt like a brick had landed on Aziraphale’s feet. 

It had been too close, had set panic and fear rising like bile in Aziraphale. These dalliances had to stop, it was dangerous and it wasn’t worth the risk of either or both of them being caught. Crowley conceded and had respected the boundaries they agreed. But sometimes, his voice would develop that teasing heat, subtle reminders of what had been, and shake Aziraphale’s resolve.    
  
“I’d be a consultant. You could bounce ideas off of me, I provide some expert advice, we brainstorm together. Ya know, that sort of thing,” Crowley offered, all innocence, but somehow closing the gap between them, his breath warm against Aziraphale’s lips.   
  
“Well, it would be helpful to have someone to run ideas past, temptations isn't my strong suit after all, and Gabriel has been wondering what’s been taking so long . . . and provided the soul is won, then well, the how surely doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale said slowly, allowing himself to be swept under by Crowley’s charm.

And so it was agreed. Crowley would take up residence at Aziraphale's comfortable Parisian townhouse, join his small household staff as a manservant and provide some infernal guidance, to help get the temptation across the line. There was of course the small issue of Aziraphale's existing manservant. Miraculously, however, the young lad had thought it was time to marry his childhood sweetheart, and confirmed to Monsieur Fell that he would be needing to depart the household and return to his village. Aziraphale would have been heartless to hold him back from his true love, and so the vacancy for manservant needed filling.

_ Dear C, position has become available. ~ A _

The message dispatched, he had tried to focus on his work again, but found it hard. As long as Crowley and him had been working together, they had never shared a home. Never lived in such proximity for any amount of time. The thought was terrifying and exciting in equal measure. He almost jumped at the knock on his door, and had to try hard to look calm and collected when his housekeeper opened the study door. 

"Pardon, monsieur. The new manservant is here, and you asked to send him straight to you." 

Aziraphale nodded. "Send him in, Marie." 

The form that strode through the door had all the familiarity of centuries of friendship, and yet, something about Crowley seemed unfamiliar. Almost off. Aziraphale studied him carefully, and tried to put his finger on the change. 

"Ah, excellent. Welcome." It almost took some effort not to stand and greet Crowley, like the equals they had always been. "Anthony, was it? Very pleased that you're joining my household." 

_ My household. My family. Mine. _

The thought brought on an almost visceral reaction, something straining in the very bones of him. Unacknowledged and yet impossible to ignore.  _ Nonsense, _ Aziraphale had to reprimand himself. Nobody thought of their staff in this way anymore. It was the posture, he decided. The way Crowley stood perfectly straight, and moved in polite, understated motions, quite unusual for him. It gave him the air of a taut bow string, ready to snap into action on command. 

"Please, have a seat. I trust Marie has shown you your room?"

Aziraphale's eyebrow arched as Crowley sat in the chair, only after having received permission to do so. So often, the demon would sprawl himself across the nearest surface, invited or otherwise. And yet even when sitting right now, his posture was straighter, his gaze more attentive. Obedient, even.

"Yes Madame Marie has been very welcoming and my accommodation is more than adequate, thank you Monsieur." 

It was clear Crowley was playing his role, of course he was . . . but there was no hint of teasing or joke hidden in his words. Aziraphale's heart skipped at Crowley’s tone and the way his head tipped downwards as he referred to Aziraphale, full of deference and submission,

"I thought we would outline your role and responsibilities," Aziraphale said, folding his hands across the desk. 

Crowley, stiffened that bit more, posed and listening intensively, as if he intended to memorise every single instruction. Aziraphale had to clear his throat to distract himself from the heat rising in him. 

The angel straightened his own back, responding to Crowley with a firm authority in his voice. 

"Your duty, largely, is to attend to my wants and needs. You will accompany me on outings and social visits, you will deliver my messages and return messages meant for me. And of course any other such errands that I deem appropriate.

"You're also responsible for my comfort and aid. I will expect you to have selected a suitable outfit for the day, ensured it's correctly pressed and then assist me into it and again in the evening, ensuring everything is hung and cleaned when necessary. I also rather enjoy a hot bath, at the end of the day.

"Breakfast will be delivered to me in the bedroom, lunch and tea in the study and dinner in the dining room. You'll serve me then eat with the other staff. Is that all clear?"

Crowley's eyes had widened as Aziraphale mentioned the more personal aspects of his service. There had been a teasing edge to his voice when they'd discussed the arrangement over wine. 

_ "Come on, Angel. What's the harm? It'll help me pass the time, and you'll enjoy it. I'll wait on your every whim." _

Now, however, there was a hesitancy in the demon’s gaze, though Aziraphale couldn’t place it. He’d assumed Crowley understood the role when he suggested it. And Aziraphale definitely hadn't missed how he had swallowed at the mention of a hot bath. 

"Absolutely, all clear. I, uh." The sheepish grin almost echoed Crowley's usual demeanor. "Have to admit I've never lived in a household with a manservant before. Didn't expect the, hm, the dressing and bathing is all." 

Oh no. Aziraphale surprised himself with how his stomach clenched at the admission. It didn't matter, for beings like them who had no need for baths and could dress themself with a miracle, and yet - well, no matter. 

"Oh. Well, we can modify your role of course, if you're not comfortable with-" Crowley surged at the suggestion, almost shooting out of his chair and catching himself only at the last moment. 

"No!" 

His hands had tensed around the armrests, and Aziraphale observed with a flutter in his stomach how he rapidly smoothed himself back into the role. "I mean. Keeping up appearances. Part of the job, and all that. I'll do it. Just... may need to tell me how."

The nervous eagerness in the way Crowley shot forward at a change in job description piqued Aziraphale's attention.

"My dear, I'm certain you'll manage to work out the dressing and bath arrangements," Aziraphale's smirked. "But of course, I'll guide you on how to behave in public, when we're meeting important people, you'll pick it up, I'm sure." 

Aziraphale settled back, easing into this more authoritative role he was now playing with Crowley. It fitted over him like a mantel and the subtle but unmistakable clues from Crowley that this arrangement would work very well indeed.

"The next thing to consider, is what I’ll call you. You will be Anthony, never Crowley or Monsieur Crowley when I'm referring to you, is that clear?" 

Crowley nodded silently, a shimmer of something Aziraphale couldn't place as intense interest or mischief. And with Crowley, it was best not to assume. 

“And what shall I call you? Monsieur? Sir?” he paused a moment, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Master, perhaps?” 

The last word rolled off Crowley’s tongue, his eyes not quite meeting Aziraphahel’s, it seemed like an incantation that willed Crowley to submit. A warm shiver ran through Aziraphale, there was no question as to the title he preferred. Aziraphale straightened, shaking the warmth off him and regaining his composure. 

“Master will be sufficient. You will walk a step behind me, in this household and in public, I am your better and I will expect you to anticipate my needs, be timely with the tea, be silent unless spoken to. I'll guide you at first, but I expect you to learn, but I'm certain you will, you are so very clever," Aziraphale lent forward, his own heart thumping steadily.

"I'll hope you'll find me firm, but fair and most of the staff would confirm that I'm a most agreeable Master, you'll settle in just fine, I'm sure."

"Of course. Master. I'll. Of course." 

Again, that twitch in Crowley's jaw, the slight tilt of his shoulders, as though only just holding himself back from leaning in closer. This might easily be the fewest words Crowley had ever spoken in Aziraphale's presence. If it hadn't been for the bright spark of interest clearly glimmering just underneath the surface, he would have wondered what the demon was up to, hiding his usual torrent of questions and needling comments under such a calm exterior. As it was, the quiet promised quite a different kind of storm. 

"Good." Aziraphale unfolded his hands, and leaned back again, crossing his fingers over the slight swell of his gut. He had always found it hard to resist earth's harmless temptations, and the way his corporation had settled into the comfortable life of a well-to-do merchant was proof of it. This, however, would be new. "Very good. We'll start you off right away, then. Here are some messages that I'll need delivered, do you need take notes on where you're going?"

Crowley's fingers just dusted past Aziraphale's as he reached out to take the offered stack of letters in Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale watched as Crowley flicked through them, pausing on occasion to confirm an address, but with the exception of a couple obscure names, Crowley seemed satisfied and smiled at him. 

"I'll get these delivered straight away Master. Thank you again for the opportunity, I'm certain I'll not disappoint you," Crowley stood and bowed low before stepping carefully out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Aziraphale settled behind his desk, considering the chair Crowley had just vacated. He'd never seen the Serpent like this, so willing to obey and take instruction. Time would of course tell if Crowley was playing a long wind-up game with Aziraphale, but he couldn't help but feel it was genuinely felt. The near panic at which he refused to change any of the job description, accepting and content to take on the more intimate roles had captured Aziraphale's imagination. He'd never taken Crowley to be submissive to anything, certainly not Heaven or Hell, but when Aziraphale spoke, in that firm tone, Crowley sat up straight and listened.

They'd never shared such close quarters before and in all previous interactions, had always treated each other as equals. Aziraphale had been concerned before Crowley arrived that his sense of mischief would take over and he'd be a petulant and troublesome manservant. But there'd been no need for concern, Crowley seemed to relish the loss of control and settled easily into a servant’s role and Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be so willing if he were doing it for anyone other than Aziraphale.

* * *

When Crowley returned home - and how quickly he'd taken to call it that! - the day's work sat pleasantly heavy in his bones. He tended to avoid riding horses whenever he could, not on good terms with the beasts since they usually sensed the serpent coming from far away. Considering his station, however, it wouldn't have been proper to take coaches everywhere, so he'd been in the saddle all day. 

Ordinarily, this kind of exhaustion would call for some wine and a truly demonic amount of lazing about, but today, he had better things on the agenda. A thrill ran down his spine when he remembered the conversation they'd had earlier in the day. The natural ease with which Aziraphale had adopted such an authoritative tone with him. It had struck a cord with Crowley. Unexpectedly, but all the more eagerly, he had felt himself react to the hierarchy between them. 

Crowley's usual modus operandi with power hierarchies was to challenge them - to tempt and taunt until the carefully arranged order crumbled, and usually, a commendation would follow. In this case, however, he found himself eager to find out where else the dynamic could take them. 

He found Aziraphale in the dining room, just finishing up his supper. 

"Ah, Anthony, excellent. Everything sorted that I asked you to do?" 

Crowley bowed his head respectfully. "Yes, all arranged and delivered. The tailor will send word in the next few days when your order is done." 

"Good, good. You've come at the perfect time. I am going to retire early tonight, would you please prepare me a bath? I’ll be in my study when you're ready."

Crowley's stomach flipped at the mention of the bath. It had been a faint dream when he'd agreed to be Aziraphale's manservant, a vague concept this morning and now it had thundered very quickly into his reality.

_ This is your job, your lucky bastard, should self-select jobs more often. _ Crowley thought to himself, a thrill running through him at what an early night for Aziraphale meant.

"Well timed indeed Master. It would be my pleasure, I'll collect you when it's ready," Crowley had a faint smile on his lips, the excitement of the task sparkling in his amber eyes.

Crowley again bowed low as he excused himself from Aziraphale's presence and made his way into the kitchen, requesting the maids help him deliver hot water upstairs to the bath. Between the three of them, the large, deep copper bathtub in Aziraphale's quarters was steaming fitfully from the hot water. A quick infernal miracle applied to ensure it stayed that way as long as need.

Crowley surveyed the bathroom, a luxurious space that was warm and inviting. He found the towels, folding one neatly over the tub and then a thick terry robe, which he hung in Aziraphale's bedroom, where a small fire had been built, taking the winter chill out of the air. Aziraphale had a collection of richly scented oils and Crowley set about smelling each one in turn, building a soothing concoction of lavender, bergamot and rosemary. He swirled in a healthy drop of sweet almond oil and sea salts, stirring them into the tub to mix and dissolve. The scent was intoxicating, the steam filling the bathroom with herbal perfume.

Preparing the bath for Aziraphale, taking the angel's desire into his own hands, creating the most carefully considered bath with the right atmosphere gave Crowley a great sense of accomplishment and pride. There was a comfort in serving Aziraphale he hadn't expected. Ordinarily he was happiest upsetting the apple cart, rebelling. But in following Aziraphale's commands, he was at peace and content.

Earlier, he purchased a box of chocolates from a renowned chocolatier, unable to resist the urge to surprise and delight Aziraphale. He settled the box on the table next to the tub and stepped back, admiring the scene. The warm metal of the bath glowed in the candlelight, the water steamy and shimmering.

Pleased with his work, he closed the door and made his way to the study, knocking the door and awaiting Aziraphale's confirmation that he could enter. 

"Your bath, Master, it's ready, if you're ready to go up?" Crowley's voice was steady, but his insides where liquified. 

In times past when he’d found himself undressing Aziraphale, there’d been enough wine to slow the pace of his racing thoughts, driven more by blazing heat and need. The letter from Hell landing on Aziraphale’s foot had brought even that to a swift end. This, however, would be sober and deliberate. Crowley drew a ragged breath to still his nerves as Aziraphale stood. This was his job, what he’d been brought in to do, he was being very bold to assume this would be going any further than that.

"Quite. Thank you, Anthony." Crowley's skin buzzed with the use of this name,  _ his _ name, the first one he had entirely chosen for himself. It had been a whim, at first, and quickly proved essential for his human disguises, but he had never considered how intimate it would sound, coming from Aziraphale. He stood back, gaze lowered respectfully as the angel brushed past him, but parted his lips almost reflexively. 

Even in its fully human state, Crowley's tongue was possessed with a snake-like sensitivity, and he could feel Aziraphale now, the cotton candy and ozone aroma of him fizzing on Crowley’s tongue. It was familiar, a scent sampled greedily over millennia, but it had never been so strong. At the bathroom door, Aziraphale paused and inhaled deeply. Delight curled around him like the steam rising from the bath, and for a moment, Crowley found himself beaming back at him, all polite restraint forgotten. 

Then, a soft sort of resolve fell over the angel's face, and he cleared his throat. "It looks delightful. Do help me disrobe, so I can enjoy it properly." 

This was it, then. Crowley's hand shook with the effort of not reaching out too quickly, and he bit his tongue resolutely, just to keep himself grounded. 

_ You'll work out the dressing. _

As if this hadn't been a constant on Crowley's mind for centuries, each era with its own clasps, buttons and ribbons to work out, the work of mentally disrobing his angel never one that got old. And yet, with the task before him, Crowley found it hard to know where to start. Should he undo the tiny, silk-covererd buttons on Aziraphale's sleeves, uncover those buttery soft wrists? Undo the army of velvety buttons holding the angel's doublet in place? In the end, Crowley rounded Aziraphale and lifted both hands to his cravat, pausing to check for permission. 

"May I, Master?"

Aziraphale only nodded his agreement, his eyes fixed on Crowley's hands as the moved carefully to Aziraphale's cravat, that first give of silk of the bow untying, falling open and revealing the Angel's throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. Crowley's breath hitched at even this tiniest reveal, his eyes traced the curve of Aziraphale's throat to the dip of his collarbone and the faintly visible blonde curls just buried under his doublet and shirt. 

He slid the silk from Aziraphale's collar, the garment floating to the floor like a petal off a rose. Crowley was transfixed, completely absorbed in working his fingers down the brocade doublet, each button a prayer, a silent supplication. Crowley had dreamed of this, more times than he dared to admit, unpeeling the Angel's layers to reveal what was underneath. 

The air around them was still and heavy with the anticipation of several centuries, of pining and longing that Crowley never named, but whose dull ache was chronic and persistent. He glanced up from his rapt attention on the buttons to see Aziraphale watching him, his face softly lit by candlelight, an unmistakable fondness in the gentle smile he wore. Crowley breathed deeply as the last button came free, slipped his hands into the shoulders of Aziraphale's doublet and slid it slowly down, his fingertips ghosting across Aziraphale's arms, just covered by the thin linen shirt.

They were silent except their breaths, slow and steady, both trying to retain composure that was rapidly slipping and the faint thumping of hearts thrumming between them like a low electric buzz. Crowley loosened the laces at the neck of the shirt and fingered the edge of it, meeting Aziraphale's eyes again, who seemed to immediately understand and lifted his arms slowly, allow Crowley to lift the shirt up and over his head, ruffling the snow white curls as the shirt slid off. 

A small gasp escaped Crowley as his eyes took in the soft and comfortable shape of Aziraphale, round belly, smattering of downy white hair across his chest, strong and study arms. His hand drifted up on it's own accord, wanting to touch and taste every inch of it. He then reminded himself and that this was part of his job, not an invitation for something more from Aziraphale and slowly withdrew his hands. In a serpentine move, Crowley dropped to his knees, his fingers toying with the laces of Aziraphale's breeches, again glancing up, meeting Aziraphale's steady and warming gaze from under his eye lids and easily loosened the lace and guided the breeches and down Aziraphale's thick thighs and helped Aziraphale step out of them. 

Crowley had studiously ignored any swelling underneath the tightly laced wool, his mind not quite ready to deal with this evidence of Aziraphale's arousal. Now, however, with the breeches placed to the side and only the thin cotton of the angel's undergarments separating them, it became impossible to ignore the half-erect cock so tantalisingly close to his eye level. All of a sudden, Crowley was very aware of his body, and the solid flesh before him. His knees ached pleasantly on the polished wood floor, and every ritual of human worship all of a sudden made sense. He sat back on his heels, and carefully wet his lips. 

"Master, I could - If you wanted." He raised his eyes to Aziraphale's face. 

A strange look played over the angel's features, unreadable except for the distinct glint of greed in his eyes. Crowley's heart thumped as he reached up to untie the undergarments, lips already slightly parted in anticipation. 

"No." Aziraphale reached down and cupped his face in one hand. 

The pads of his fingers rested lightly against the curve of Crowley's jaw, and he could feel his pulse hammer just below that point. And just like that, Aziraphale withdrew. He untied the string of his own undergarments, and before Crowley could intervene, had placed them to the side and stepped into the tub.

As Aziraphale stepped away, Crowley felt like all the air had been sucked from him and his knees wobbled. He hadn’t realised how heavy the air around them was, sodden with anticipation and millions of unspoken words. He watched as Aziraphale stepped out of the woollen garment, the full glory of the angel before his eyes and slid into the tub, his eyes wide and still recovering from the sudden distance between them. Crowley’s legs felt like lead as he stood, his own cock hard and pressing insistently at the front of his trousers, and moved to the chair at the side of the tub. 

Being told no, the denial and swift abortion of what had been a rapidly rising heat in his gut was bewitching. Aziraphale commanding his every action sent a jolt through Crowley, triggering a compulsion to obey him without question and a sharp tingle through his skin.

Aziraphale looked luxurious soaking in the tub, his arms resting on the curled edge of it, the swell of his belly just covered by the perfectly hot water, shimmering with oils. He was calm, relaxed, the lord of his manor. Crowley felt wound tight and lit up inside from the simple act of undressing Aziraphale. Crowley’s fingers twitched at the water’s surface, itching to slide against the angel’s warm, damp skin. He swallowed deeply, fixed his eyes on Aziraphale and spoke softly. 

“Master, may I?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and nodded, only to interrupt himself by holding up a hand to stop Crowley again. 

"You may, but first, would you fetch me a glass of wine?" The request took a moment to solidify in Crowley's mind. 

Slowly, the heat rose in him with the thought of walking into the kitchen in his current state, flushed and aching with arousal. Busy as the other staff members might be, they were sure to notice something. Aziraphale chuckled at the pregnant pause, and slid deeper into the water. 

"Don't fret. There is a bottle of red next door, and a glass. I do enjoy my bedtime rituals." 

When Crowley returned, Aziraphale's head was tilted back, a look of contented bliss on his face. His right hand dangled over the edge of the tub, a half-eaten chocolate between his fingers. His other hand... 

"Mhm, you do spoil me. Marvellous selection. Thank you, dear." Crowley just stared. 

_ No way. That's not a thing that's happening to you. Your oldest friend/nemesis is not complimenting your taste in desserts while shamelessly having a wank in the bath. _

Crowley’s mouth was dry, throat frozen shut as he watched Aziraphale indulging himself in nearly every way he could at once. The chocolate slid past his lips, chewing thoughtfully, surely considering the fucking bouquet and terroir of the damn thing, while his hand continued to bob lazily in the water as he worked it around his own shaft. After Aziraphale’s tongue had cleared the chocolate from his lips, he lifted the wine glass, sipping and closing his eyes, an unmissable groan spilling from Aziraphale. 

Crowley had been spellbound as he watched, but the groan weakened his knees and he half slid from his chair next to the bath, steadying himself against the edge. 

“Um, yes, of course, you’re very welcome,” he managed at last. Crowley could barely think as his cock pulsed, thick beads of precome soaking the front of his trousers, his shaft hard and aching for attention, a tight coil of arousal winding together with every breath Aziraphale took.

Crowley’s skin was on fire. A pinky tone crept up his neck and blossomed across his cheeks. He remained still despite his trembling muscles and remembered Aziraphale had granted him permission to touch him after the wine had been retrieved. Slowly, his fingers dipped into the water, small ripples forming, and scooped some of the scented water, dripping it down Aziraphale’s arms, the water beading and running in rivulets down his skin, small goosebumps rising in its wake. Aziraphale’s hand stroked down his cock a bit harder. Crowley grew more confident and in the next scoop, his hand immediately followed the water, rubbing the oil from the water in and earned further soft mewls from Aziraphale for his efforts.

"Oh...!" Aziraphale caught his lip between his teeth and stifled his own outcry, much to Crowley's chagrin. 

He felt transfixed, and utter disbelief quickly turned into a fatalistic attitude.  _ If this is just a dream, might as well enjoy the show. If it's real, I'll be damned again if I miss a single second. _ Crowley's eyes had turned into deep pools of desire, fixed on the glistening spectacle of Aziraphale's sliding fingers. His fingers shook as he continued to caress Aziraphale's chest: the hard swell of muscle and the tender nubs of his now-erect nipples. Tentatively, Crowley ran one of his fingers across the left, and a ripple went through Aziraphale's body. 

"So good, you've always been so good to me, haven't you? Don't think I haven't noticed, you wily - hn - wily serpent."

“It’s nothing, Angel, my pleasure,” Crowley croaked, his eyes rising slowly to meet Aziraphale’s.

From the moment Aziraphale had covered him with his wing on the Garden Wall, Crowley had felt compelled to return that generous kindness that had been so foreign to him. He loved to find things that delighted Aziraphale, coaxed the radiant sparkle to his eyes. It could be small, like a box of chocolates or a book Aziraphale had mentioned. It never failed to light Crowley up on the inside, like the sun dawning after a starless night.

As Aziraphale cried out at the soft brush against his nipple, Crowley brought it between his fingers, rolling it gently and started the same on the other. Aziraphale slid back against the tub, his mouth open as a deep guttural moan fell from him. His hips pushed up in response, his cock breaking the surface, wet and needy.

Crowley whimpered at the sight, seeing Aziraphale so wanton, luxuriating in the carnal pleasures of his corporation. It was an arresting sight and molten need coursed through Crowley’s veins. He ached, the sharp edge of denial biting into his groin only sharpening his want.

" _ Fuck. _ "

It was a low whisper, barely audible, but it went through Crowley like the crack of a whip. Another pulse of come soaked his breeches, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying and failing to get some friction against his own clothes. Aziraphale's hips were working harder now, his hand sliding against his shaft with a wet noise, and Crowley  _ burned _ . He ached to lean in and drink the heavy gasps of air from Aziraphale's lips, let his tongue play across those delectable rosy nipples and see just what, exactly, his clever tongue could do to the angel.

"Oh, darling, don't stop, don't st-ah!" With a thrust that Crowley felt in his own bones, Aziraphale threw himself over the edge and spilled into the water. Crowley's tongue darted out greedily, sampling the air filled with the aroma of sex and desire, and itching to get a real taste. It looked entirely too tempting, thick ropes of come cascading down the soft fingers, that fat prick, and tinting the bathwater a milky white where they mixed.

Crowley’s hands fell away as Aziraphale’s shuddering slowed, the angel ruddy and glowing with satisfaction. 

He stretched leisurely in the water, seemingly unconcerned with the panting, aroused and half neglected serpent in front of him. Aziraphale reached for the wine, taking a long slow slip, smacking his lips contentedly and cast Crowley a cheeky smirk. 

“That was exquisite my dear, you did exceptionally well,” Aziraphale purred, his vice thick and honeyed. 

Crowley smiled, despite the painful protestations of his cock, inexplicably harder than it already was as the sight of his silent angel. 

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to have served you,” he said, feeling real pride and satisfaction in the praise. 

Crowley managed to steady his hands and continued to wash Aziraphale, his touches still soft and lingering, but less heated. He reached for a soap, lathering it between his hands and massaging in the scented bubbles. Aziraphale cooed and leant into the touch.

Time seemed to have slowed down to a thick, syrupy consistency, stretching and bending around them as Crowley washed Aziraphale. His mind was hazy from the combined rush of his unfulfilled need and the absolute satisfaction radiating off his angel, and his hands went through the motions automatically, half-dazed and blissfully raw. At last, Aziraphale stepped out of the tub, and Crowley had to physically stop himself from staring at the glistening, glorious bulk of him, even softer than usual in the steam-soaked candlelight. 

Instead, he reached for a towel, and patted down Aziraphale's flushed skin, careful not to overstimulate. Once he was wrapped in his robe, Aziraphale turned to fully take in Crowley for the first time since he had stepped into the bathroom, and Crowley instinctively drew himself up to his new, attentive servant's posture. The small shift earned a soft smile from Aziraphale, and the angel reached out to play with a lock of hair that had fallen from Crowley's braid. 

"I was wondering, dear, if you could do something else for me." The soft request, combined with the clear authority in his voice, stole Crowley's breath. 

"Of course, Master. Anything you need." 

Aziraphale stepped back, a smirk playing on his perfect, plump lips. "Oh, it's not so much something I need, just something I want. And you've been ever so good with giving me what I want tonight, I think you might quite enjoy this, too." 

Bless it, if he kept going on like that, Crowley might discorporate on the spot. That prim and orderly tone, as though he hadn't just worked himself to a frenzied orgasm. Speaking of which, Crowley's own cock twitched under the attentive gaze, and he had to clasp his hands behind his back to avoid touching himself, desperate for any kind of relief. 

"I was thinking, how much we would both like it if you didn't pleasure yourself today. Just keep yourself like this, burning so prettily for me. Can you do that?" 

The question caused a garbled sound to rattle in Crowley’s throat as he was left speechless again at the request, delivered so casually by Aziraphale. His cock jerked again and he bit his lip as he forced himself steady against the shudder running through him. 

“I can, Master, yes, anything for you,” Crowley breathed, his shattered nerves screaming in agony. Working hard to maintain perfect control over his body, Crowley bowed as he accepted the request. He glanced up to see Aziraphale smiling at him, soft, but a firm edge to it that invited no contest. 

“You are so very good, my clever serpent. I trust you not to cheat, it would rather spoil all the fun,” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s chin, rubbing a thumb across Crowley’s swollen lips. “Good night, Anthony,” he said simply then turned his back Crowley, wine glass in hand and climbed into his bed. 

“I’ll expect breakfast just after sunrise, Marie will have it ready,” Aziraphale said, not looking at the book he’d opened as Crowley continued to linger by the door they separated their rooms.

He nodded, bowed again and softly closed the door behind him. Once in his own room, he sank to the floor, his back against the door, spreading his legs wide, trying to find some relief of the stinging denial in his gut. He dug the heel of his hand at the base of his cock and inhaled sharply. His vision was bright and vivid even in the low candle light. Aziraphale was making him wait and he’d never wanted it more. It was painfully exquisite, a torment of conflicting feelings rushing through him, his skin singing with it.

Crowley managed to stand shakily and changed into his nightshirt Even the breath of cotton sliding across his body, whispering across his cock made Crowley bend over and grasp the end the of the bed, the intensity threatening to bring him to his knees.

He groaned weakly, climbed into bed and gripped tightly at the edge of his duvet, if for nothing else then to stop his hands drifting where they’d been forbidden to go.

* * *

"That's enough for now, thank you." 

Aziraphale waved away the bottle of wine Crowley had primed to pour over his glass. 

The old Crowley would have frowned and chided Aziraphale for having an early night when there was still loads of lovely wine to drink. The new Crowley, however - or rather, Anthony - had no such comments. He nodded and took a step back, his sole concern to fulfil his Master's every request. Aziraphale could feel his eyes trained on his back, watching attentively as he ate, and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. 

While he savoured his food, his mind replayed the previous days, the delicious spiral of submission and domination they had found themselves in. Crowley serving him his breakfast in bed. So attentive and gentle, slowly waking Aziraphale over a cup of strong tea and a buttery pastry. Crowley receiving his orders in Aziaphrale’s study, where even after almost a week, Aziraphale's heart wouldn't stop pounding whenever he heard the distinctive Crowley’s on the door. The thrilling and satisfying rush he felt whenever he ignored Crowley in public, only to turn suddenly turn to him with a curt request or a sharp reprimand, Crowley averting his eyes in deference.

Aziraphale had been keeping him on the edge, hadn’t permitted an orgasm since the night this began. His heart burned with pride and affection at the easy way Crowley conceded his satisfaction to Aziraphale. The unyielding trust Crowley placed in him, devoted and obedient even at great discomfort for himself. The unquestioning adulation was desparately erotic and joyful at the same time. And despite this, Aziraphale could hardly remember a time he’d known Crowley to be so relaxed and at ease, no longer always looking over his shoulder.

The moment Aziraphale's fork and knife touched the edge of the plate, his linen napkin following shortly behind, Crowley moved swiftly, deftly lifting the plate and cutlery to take into the kitchen to be cleaned.

"Shall I pass compliments on to the cook, Master?" Crowley asked before he moved to slip through the door joining the kitchen and the dining room. 

"Yes, please. Scrumptious as always, if you could. Also, Anthony, I'll be retiring to my study, please join me there when you've finished eating. And don't you dare skip the meal," Aziraphale scolded.

"Of course Master, I'll enjoy every last bite and join you shortly," Crowley nodded and held Aziraphale's gaze a moment more before Aziraphale simply nodded to dismiss him.

As the door closed behind him, a shiver ran down Aziraphale's spine, there had been a recognition in Crowley’s expression, that a reward may well be forthcoming, his amber eyes lighting up at the invitation. Most nights, after dinner, Crowley had been expected to stand sentry at Aziraphale's study door or occasionally granted permission to attend to his own affairs, but very seldom had Aziraphale invited him join him in the study. It had partly been for propriety's sake. While under this roof, Crowley was a servant and not a friend and it was best to not give the wrong impression. The other part was that it made for another symbol of Aziraphale's control, his clear dictation of what Crowley should be doing and when.

Once in his study alone, Aziraphale drew a deep breath. This arrangement, while it had started innocently enough with an earnest offer for help, had had him falling into a familiar pattern over the course of the past week. Crowley’s constant presence was a siren's song, driving Aziraphale to distraction, despite his efforts to appear aloof and in control. They’d had such a close call, a mere inches from being discovered and he’d vowed he’d keep his distance for both their sakes. But with Crowley here, spending his days with him, attending to him, showering him with such rich devotion -- Aziraphale felt powerless to resist. 

His heart jumped at the knock on the door, Aziraphale lost in the memory of Crowley’s fingers skating across his skin as he undressed him the night before and bathed him in beautifully perfumed water.

"Come in, please!" Aziraphale had set out two glasses, each with a finger of whiskey, by the seating area in the corner of his study. Previously, when they had spoken in this room, he had been seated in his plush seat behind the imposing desk, with Crowley on the simple, smaller visitors' chair in front. It was a most appropriate arrangement for the roles they had adopted, but for tonight, Aziraphale wanted to set a different tone. 

"Good evening, Crowley," he greeted cheerfully, almost as though they hadn't seen each other just moments ago. "I thought it was time we took a moment to speak directly, without Anthony as a go-between. Just to see how things are going. Wouldn't you agree?" 

The confusion was evident on Crowley's face, but he nodded, and closed the door completely behind himself, before settling cautiously into one of the armchairs by the fire. His glasses clicked on the marble tabletop. 

"Something wrong?" 

Aziraphale smiled, and reached for his own glass. He sank deeply into his chair, and took a contented sip before answering. "Oh no. Not at all. I simply felt like we had an intense few days, and it might be wise to talk about that before we proceed." 

An unmistakable spark glimmered in Crowley's eyes at the mention of proceeding, and Aziraphale felt the answering throb in his groin.  _ Always so eager. _ But all in good time. 

"There were a few things I wanted to ask you about... because I would not want to misinterpret them." 

After being reassured that nothing was wrong, Crowley had sprawled in the chair in that familiar way of his, that would not seem comfortable on anyone with a less serpentine spine. He raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale's request, but didn't answer, beyond a wave of the wrist that Aziraphale chose to interpret as agreement. 

"Well, mostly, I wanted to know how the past few days have been for you. You certainly seem happy enough with our... arrangement, but are you quite comfortable with all aspects of it?"

Aziraphale watched Crowley carefully as he considered the question, lifted the whiskey glass to his lips and slipped slowly. It was incredible, the subtle transformation from Anthony back to Crowley. As Anthony, his posture was straighter, more rigid, his eyes continually lowered in deference to his Master. Now, sitting before him as Crowley, he was more relaxed, his movements more snake-like, more self-assured.

“I’ve been very happy with the arrangement and the intensity of it is part of that. I enjoy serving you, being subservient to you, waiting on and tending to your every want and need. It’s been, well, freeing, if I’m honest,” Crowley said matter of factly, though there was a clear heat in his voice. 

Aziraphale relaxed, releasing a tension in his shoulders he hadn’t realised he was holding from the moment Crowley had sauntered into the door. They hadn’t discussed this exact direction of this arrangement and it had developed with an ease that had been surprising. 

“I’m glad to hear it, Crowley, though you don’t have to say they just because you think it’s what I want to hear,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley another opportunity to raise any concerns. 

Crowley shifted and leant forward in his seat, shortening the gap between them. 

“Aziraphale, after all this time, if you think I wouldn’t be honest with you about anything, then you’ve misjudged my character. Genuinely, when you’re in charge, I am content, happy, at ease. It’s thrilling when you scold me, command me, ignore me,” Crowley’s voice was a deep purr, his eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s. 

“I haven’t touched myself since you told me no, my cock is aching and sore from the denial of it. But I know, I am in your capable hands and when the time comes, it will have been worth the wait, because when I’ve earned it, you are an attentive and generous Master.” Aziraphale drew a deep breath at the word ‘Master’, his fears and concerns of having pushed Crowley too far melting away under the heated amber glow his eyes.

Before he could think of a response, though, Crowley continued. 

"Why are you asking this now? Did I do anything  _ you're _ not comfortable with?" 

The mere suggestion made Aziraphale flush, or maybe it was the inevitable memory of just how much he enjoyed everything they had done together those past few days. The heat in dealing out short, concise commands to Crowley, who took them so willingly. The undeniable eroticism of being dressed and undressed by him every day, and the thrill of keeping him on edge. 

"I... no. No, not at all." In spite of himself, the blush on Aziraphale's cheeks deepened, and he cleared his throat. 

It felt strangely revealing, to say these things out loud. More so than it probably should, after all they'd seen and heard of each other. But Crowley was right, if Aziraphale wanted to hear how he was dealing with their new roles, he deserved to get the same from Aziraphale. 

"It feels very - grounding, in a way. Maybe that sounds silly, because of course it's a very erotic and exciting experience, but beyond that, it is - well. It's overwhelming, sometimes, to sense just how much I want to take from you, but every time I do, you show me that you're not just willing to give it - it makes you happy to do so. You're quite extraordinary, you know." 

A faint blush spread to Crowley’s cheeks at the praise of being extraordinary and Aziraphale found it utterly endearing. It would seem as much as Crowley enjoyed being ordered about, scolded and ignored, compliments had a peculiar power over the serpent. Aziraphale tucked the knowledge away for future use.

His hands itched to reach out and take Crowley's face between them, gently trace those familiar lines of joy and worry that the centuries had left there. He longed to draw Crowley in for a kiss, taste him deeply and fully, but - too close, he reminded himself. Too close to what they didn't say, to the lines they couldn't allow themselves to cross.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're still happy with what we have here, and I expect you'll let me know if that ever changes. In the spirit of that... I'm wondering whether we should instate a safe word."

Crowley continued to sip at his whiskey and nodded in agreement regarding the suggestion of a safe word. 

“Yes, I’d think that would be sensible, not sure we’d ever use it, but nice to have the option, just in case.” 

The truth was, should it be necessary, Crowley could certainly get himself out of any situation he wasn’t comfortable with, Aziraphale was sure of that. But in agreeing the safe word, it was as if permission to push the boundaries, to find the limits of what Crowley could endure, had been granted, with the failsafe of the word if it became overwhelming.

Aziraphale’s body tingled at the prospect of bringing Crowley dangerously close to the edge of what his corporation could withstand, leaving Crowley desperate thing, begging for release, which only Aziraphale could grant. Judging by the subtle shift in his seat and the crossing of his legs, Crowley had a similar thought. 

“I’m thinking my name, Aziraphale,” Aziraphale said and Crowley nodded. 

“Aziraphale it is,” Crowley agreed, his gaze fixed on Aziraphale, an unmistakable electricity in the air between them as the word was agreed. 

Up until this point, any intimacy they’d enjoyed had been under the strict master/servant dynamic they’d created, using their real names was taboo, too close to real intimacy. Aziraphale’s name as a safe word would keep the line drawn, permissible only in cases when immediate intervention was required. Aziraphale swallowed the rest of his whiskey and stood. 

“Excellent, well, I’m glad we’re in agreement there and have that all cleared up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to something,” Aziraphale said and made his way to the door.

As soon as the door closed, Aziraphale collapsed against it, a laugh of relief and delight bubbling up in his chest. 

_ You precious, precious thing. If you knew how much you please me, you might discorporate on the spot. I can hardly stand it myself. Time to do something about it... and give you everything you've been craving. _

A rush washed over him at the thought of the scene he'd played out in his head, and everything Crowley had just said. They lined up so well, if it hadn't been for the intimacy of centuries, Aziraphale might have felt tempted to question how it was possible. 

Straightening himself up, and momentarily ignoring the weight that had begun to build in his breeches, Aziraphale made his way down the hall, into his bedroom. From the nightstand beside his bed, he retrieved a long, narrow package, and set it on the bed to carefully open the lid. The instrument it revealed was sleek and simple, expertly crafted, yet not ostentatious. A beautiful, leather riding crop, brand new and purchased only for one specific purpose. Before taking it out of its packaging, Aziraphale retrieved his riding boots, carefully shined only this morning by Crowley. 

So equipped and dressed as though he'd just returned from an outing, he made his way back to the study, and opened the door without knocking. Crowley was still sprawled by the fire, nursing his whiskey and apparently deep in thought. He jumped at the sound of the door, and Aziraphale's heart skipped as he scrambled to his feet. 

"Anthony, what is the meaning of this? I leave you for a few hours, and I find you disrespecting my space, and drinking my liquor on top of it? Have you no shame?" 

Confusion and hunger mixed deliciously on Crowley's face, and he seemed to be at a loss for words, only a few garbled syllables escaping him as he straightened out his uniform, and tried to smooth back the hair that had come loose from his braid. 

" _ Answer _ me, boy. Or have you forgotten your position in this household?"

The visible shudder that ran through Crowley as Aziraphale addressed him as  _ boy _ sent a hot liquid heat to Aziraphale’s groin. Crowley looked full of shame and remorse at having crossed his Master and Aziraphale had to bite back a groan at the swift transformation from cool, confident Serpent of Eden to obedient and apologetic servant. Crowley truly was remarkable. 

“No, Master, I haven’t forgotten. Please, I beg your forgiveness for my insolence and bold behavior,” Crowley’s voice shook with emotion, his palms pressed against his thighs as he lowered his head, stray strands of hair covering his face. 

Aziraphale circled around Crowley and gave the riding crop a testing smack against the back of Crowley’s thighs, drawing forth a sharp gasp from Crowley that was too heated to be from pain alone. 

“This is most disappointing Anthony, to have forgotten yourself and help yourself to my study and my whiskey, whatever gave you the idea you were entitled to such treats?” Aziraphale’s voice was low and dangerous. 

Crowley whimpered pathetically, unable to give a verbal response. Aziraphale drew the riding crop back again, this time landing a solid smack on the meat of Crowley’s arse, who yelped again. 

“I asked you a question, Anthony, I expect an answer.” 

“I misunderstood your generosity Master and took what wasn’t mine. Please don’t punish me Master,” Crowley pleaded. 

Aziraphale tsked and wrapped his fingers around the base of Crowley’s long braid, steering him to the desk, forcing Crowley to lean over it. 

“But my dear boy, if I don’t punish your indiscretions, however will you learn? Now, lower your breeches and present yourself for punishment,” Aziraphale was calm and collected, Crowley was visibly shaking beneath him.

Crowley continued to beg and plead while he unlaced the breeches to his uniform, sliding them down his legs with big wet tears in his eyes. 

“Master, I’m sorry!” He whined and looked at Aziraphale pathetically. 

Aziraphale’s cock was hard at Crowley’s protestations, so sweet and earnest, eyes wide and frightened. If it weren’t for the safe word, it would have given Aziraphale pause, so effective was the performance. 

“Bend over that desk and take your lashings Anthony. I want to be sure you never step above your station again.”

There was a flicker in Crowley's pleading eyes, a worried twitch that seemed to draw them back to the door. Aziraphale caught his meaning instantly, and gave an almost imperceptible nod before snapping his fingers once. The bolts to the study door slid into place with a metallic click.

At the sound of this, all resistance seemed to leave Crowley's body, and he slumped over the desk, bracing himself on his elbows. Hot breath fogged the polished wood and a single, fat tear splashed between his fingers. 

"Better. See, I knew you could be good for me, if you just try." Aziraphale circled the desk in slow, measured steps, taking in Crowley's desperate form from all angles. 

He really was a sight to behold: the deep, amber eyes, fully serpentine and shining with tears, the trembling curve of his back. That delicious, exposed arse, pale and freckled and just begging to be marked. Once he had made the round, Aziraphale slowly extended his crop, drinking in the slight shake in Crowley's thighs at the motion. He drew the leather end of it softly up the length of Crowley's still-stockinged calf, and along the sensitive inside of his thigh. 

"I think ten lashes should be enough for now, that is, if you promise to learn your lesson. Can you do that for me, Anthony?" 

Crowley's hands, spread out on the wood and fogging the surface, balled into tight fists. 

"Yes Master, anything. I promise I'll be good, nothing but your obedient servant from now on. You're too good to me, Master." 

Aziraphale chuckled, and placed his left hand on the small of Crowley's back. 

"We'll see about that. For now, you're going to take what I'm about to give you in absolute silence. No more insolence out of you, not even if it's crying and begging." 

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but clearly thought the better of it. Evidently unsure if his command to stay silent was already in effect, he simply closed his eyes, and nodded vigorously. Aziraphale had to repress a groan of his own. Showing the arousal he felt too soon would have quite ruined the scene. Instead, he took a step back and drew up the crop, bringing it down on Crowley's arse with a sharp snap.

Crowley bit down on the meat of his balled fists to stop the cry that rose up in his throat at the first smack of the riding crop. Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at the muffled noise.

“Now now, I did warn you to be silent, that will result in an additional lashing. Control Anthony, you must control yourself,” Aziraphale sounded like a headmaster, reprimanding an unruly student, firm but caring. 

Crowley just nodded in response, doubling his efforts and the tight grip of his teeth against his fist, managing to stay perfectly silent when the second strike landed. Two bright pink welts formed up against the pale expanse of Crowley’s cheeks, shaped just like the leather strap of the riding crop. Aziraphale stroked the smooth leather across the curve of Crowley, almost soothing before drawing back and delivering a third firm, resonating slap across Crowley’s skin. 

“I expect the highest level of compliance from you, is that clear? If one of the other staff had come in, seen you like this, it would have upset the hierarchy of the household and embarrassed me a great deal. I must make it clear to you never to do that again,” Aziraphale leaned over Crowley’s back, whispering in his ears. 

Crowley’s skin glowed pink and warm as Aziraphale continued and stopped again to crouch down in front of Crowley’s battered arse, striped and throbbing. He ran his hands across Crowley’s hips, fingers skating across the welts, Crowley wincing but remaining silent. A long string of precome dripped from the head of Crowley’s cock to the floor, clearly the punishment was having the intended effect. 

“Are you enjoying this my dear? Certainly looks like you are,” Aziraphale stood up straight again, sliding the riding crop up Crowley’s thighs, trembling with repressed need and anticipation of the next strike. 

Crowley remained silent and nodded his head, and Aziraphale snapped the crop again, harder this time, a garbled muffled sound spilling from Crowley. It was an intoxicating sight, Crowley prone and spread out before him, just his arse and thighs exposed, growing redder and hotter with each strike.

"So good, my dear, almost wouldn't be able to tell how insolent you've been just a moment ago. Almost." 

Two more strikes landed across Crowley's arse in quick succession, and Aziraphale had to bite his own lip to distract himself from the heat building in his groin. 

"Not quite, though. Now that you've stopped your foolish grovelling, let me hear a proper apology, yes?" 

Crowley turned his head and tried to catch Aziraphale's eye, confusion and anticipation written across his features. With a small laugh, Aziraphale realised his mistake, and he reached out to cup Crowley's face in his free hand. 

_ Gloves, _ he thought idly,  _ Gloves would have been lovely for this. No matter, we'll try that next time. _

"Look at you, trying so hard to please me all of a sudden. Well, I should have known, you may forget your place now and then, but you've always been most eager." 

He drew back, and stroked the tip of his crop along the underside of Crowley's arse, at the sensitive join of his thighs. 

"You may speak, but don't let me catch you crying and moaning again, or you know what will happen." 

His next strike drew a sharp gasp from Crowley, which he only just managed to disguise as a word. 

"Hah-I'm sorry, Master, really, I am." 

_ Snap. _

"You've been so good to me, I've been so foolish to take that for granted." 

_ Snap. _

"Pl-please, Master, I'm not worthy, but please, accept my apologies." 

Another two lashes, quick as anything, and harder than before, made Crowley wince and bury his face against the desk.

"Enough." Aziraphale frowned, and set his crop down on the desk, before grabbing Crowley's braid again. His neck bent backwards in a long, elegant arch, his arms and thighs trembling. "I will not tolerate such language, you hear me? There is a proper place for you here, and I certainly won't let you forget it. I will not, however, have you demean yourself like that. I've chosen you to serve me, and if I didn't think you were worthy of that, you wouldn't be here. Or do you wish to question my judgment?"

The way Crowley’s eyes widened in genuine confusion and uncertainty was endearing, though it broke Aziraphale’s heart. 

_ Do you think so little of yourself? You don’t honestly believe you’re not worthy, when you mean so very much to me. _

“I, um, of course I don’t question your judgement. I’m sorry,” Crowley said weakly.

Aziraphale softened, for all his swagger, his aura of cool confidence, there was a wound in Crowley that had never healed from the Fall. The rejection, being deemed not worthy, had settled inside his heart like a rot, leading Crowley to question and doubt his goodness, his value to Aziraphale. 

“I wouldn’t have you here, if you weren’t worthy Anthony, you must trust me,” Aziraphale’s voice was still firm, the grip on Crowley’s braid tight, but there was a soft edge to it, hopeful that Crowley would understand the sentiment behind it. 

Crowley’s shoulders sagged, his head bobbing in agreement. 

“Yes Master, your taste is impeccable and I belong here. I’m sorry I doubted you,” Crowley said, an earnestness is his voice Aziraphale accepted. 

“That’s a good lad, now, I want you on your best behavior,” Aziraphale said and traced a finger down Crowley’s spine, pressing a finger into the split of him.

“You took your punishment so well, and I believe you’ve earned a reward." Aziraphale purred, his finger just circling Crowley’s rim. Crowley arched his back in response. 

“Yesssss Massster,” he hissed and groaned against the light teasing of Aziraphale’s finger.

"Some ground rules," Aziraphale said lightly, while rolling up his sleeves. 

"You may speak if you want, and I want to hear every single one of the pretty little noises you make. Your punishment is over, so don't you dare hold back." 

He bent and unlocked one of the drawers on his desk. The motion revealed a small, ceramic bottle, from which he poured oil into his cupped right hand. It was a generous amount, and as Aziraphale spread the lubricant over his fingers, a few drops escaped and cascaded down his wrist, which Crowley watched with intent interest. 

"You're also allowed to come if you need to." 

This elicited a sharp intake of breath from Crowley. The motion shoved Crowley back against the bulk of Aziraphale's body, who chuckled at the eagerness. 

"Yes, I know, you've been denying yourself ever so long, my clever servant. But I did say you had earned a reward. My only condition is that you won't touch yourself. You will come from what I'm about to give you, or you won't come at all. Are we clear?" 

Crowley nodded emphatically, his eyes wide and still fixed on Aziraphale's glistening fingers. 

"Clear, Master, of course. And should I... should I wait for you?" As soon as the words were out, he swallowed thickly, and bowed his head in deferrence. 

"That is, I mean - assuming you're going to grant me the honour of fucking me tonight."

The grin spread so quickly across Aziraphale’s face, he didn’t have the chance to stop Crowley seeing his delight, which he considered was most unprofessional look and straightened his face. 

“Very bold of you to assume anything of the sort Anthony,” Aziraphale chided, though there was no edge to it. 

“Yes, Master, I apologise for being so presumptuous,” Crowley lowered his head again and lifted his hips, arching his back, curving it into a most erotic shape. 

Aziraphale groaned at the sight, his hand, now slick with oil, pressing against Crowley, tickling against the tightly clenched muscle. 

“So tense Anthony, you really must relax,” Aziraphale cooed and smirked as Crowley breathed out, his hole loosening, the tip of Aziraphale’s finger slipping inside. 

“Ah!! Hnn,” Crowley pressed back against the pressure inside him, looking over his shoulder to give Aziraphale a heated glance. 

“Yesss, Master, fill me up,” he gasped, melting against the digit sliding thickly inside him. 

“Yes, Anthony, tell me how good it is, don’t leave a single thing out,” Aziraphale whispered against his ear, the breath hot, Crowley shuddering under it. 

“I need another one master, mmmm, please, stretch me," Crowley pleaded. 

A faint sheen of sweat began to shimmer on his skin, the week of denial, the lashing, still pink and raw across his backside and the sudden attention on his hole had Crowley wound tighter than Aziraphale had ever seen.

Even delicate breaths across his back sent goosebumps across his skin, the high whine in Crowley’s voice all showing the desperate need and want that had been building. 

“You’re so sensitive Anthony, my sweet servant, look how much you’ve endured,” Aziraphale said, his voice honeyed as he met Crowley’s wish and pressed a second finger inside and Crowley keened. 

“Hah!! Yessssss, so good master,” he panted.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, a pulse of precome soaking his breeches at the sight of Crowley's desperate writhing. He twisted his fingers in the tight heat of him, searching for that perfect spot that would have Crowley seeing stars. Aziraphale smirked in satisfaction when Crowley gave a long, guttural moan and thrust forward against the empty air. 

"There we go... are you getting close yet?" 

The only answer he received was a wordless nod, Crowley's beautiful face crumpled as he danced on that fine edge between pleasure and maddening pain. 

"Well, hold on, dear, just a little longer, will you?" He drew his hand back, toying with Crowley's rim as he watched the demon squirm. 

"Because I did say you've earned yourself a little treat. So I am going to fuck you, and you don't want to miss the best bit by coming too soon, do you?" 

Crowley's eyes flew open, and this time, his pupils were blown almost completely, two deep pools of pitch black desire. 

"No, I mean yes, Master,  _ please _ fuck me, I'll be so good. I'll do anything, I can wait," he babbled, still grinding his pelvis against the sharp edge of the desk.

Aziraphale gently stroked the sweaty tendrils of hair clinging to Crowley’s forehead. He could only imagine the intensity of what Crowley was experiencing and yet he wanted to continue to endure it all for Aziraphale’s sake. Tears pricked the back of Aziraphale’s eyes at the sheer, unquestioning devotion Crowley lavished on him. Aziraphale swallowed the emotions, focussed on the writhing, needful demon beneath him. 

“How could I possibly deny such a request?” Aziraphale said and slowly withdrew his fingers from Crowley.

Aziraphale moved to unlace his breeches, sliding them down, gasping as the air rushed around his sensitive cock, hard and leaking from teasing and tormenting Crowley. While he smoothed oil across himself, pulling long firm strokes across his length, Crowley bucked against the nothingness, the emptiness inside him. 

“Massssster, need you,” Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale trembled at the wanton need of Crowley, writhing and desperate for Aziraphale to claim him. Aziraphale drank in the sight of Crowley raw and bent over, pressing his hips back hungrily. Aziraphale stepped forward, his thighs resting against the back of Crowley’s and gripped the base of his cock, sliding the head of it down the line of Crowley, easing it into the slit of him, teasing Crowley with the promise of what was to come. 

“Ang... Master, please, please,” Crowley gasped, the tempest of emotions tangling his tongue, the old endearment slipping out. 

Aziraphale paused a moment, listening for the safeword, but Crowley caught and corrected himself. Aziraphale’s heart clenched, but he swallowed it. 

“Mind yourself, Anthony,” Aziraphale warned and pulled tighter of Crowley’s braid, causing his back and neck to arch. 

Swiftly, Aziraphale lined the head of his cock to Crowley’s entrance, grasping his slim hips and pressed inside, Crowley opening and stretching against him.

It was incredible. It was intoxicating, and now that Aziraphale had it back, he didn’t know how he could ever have given it up. He had only done the bare minimum to prepare Crowley, so this time when he entered him, the yielding heat seemed even more intense, the cry that it drew from Crowley a broken sob. 

Aziraphale stilled, he wanted to give Crowley time to adjust. Crowley, however, was having none of it, straining against the tight grip in his hair, pushing back against Aziraphale's cock. The motion was like a gust of air on the already brightly burning fire in Aziraphale's groin and he gave a sharp tug on Crowley's braid. 

"What did I say? You're going to take what I give you." 

The body beneath him shook, chest trembling helplessly against the desk with the combined exertion of panting and sobbing, and Aziraphale snapped his hips forward once, twice. He was soaring now, propelled forward as surely and smoothly as though travelling on those oft-neglected wings of his. Crowley's body was both his canvas and his instrument, a thing to be used and shaped, ready and waiting for Aziraphale's touch. The thought drove him forward, thrusting deep into Crowley's hole, hungry, so hungry for more and unwilling to give in until he had taken his fill.

The sounds coming from Crowley were delicious mewls and keens, so eager for everything Aziraphale had to give, his hole tightening exquisitely around Aziraphale's cock. Crowley stretched his hands out, fingers seeking something to grip onto, something to help propel him harder against Aziraphale's cock, earning him another sharp tug on his hair.

"Anthony, behave yourself," Aziraphale warned again and Crowley softened under him, panting, his breath blowing steam across the highly polished surface of the desk. 

"Yesss Master, sorry Master," he gasped, willing his hips to stop firing backwards, greedily driving Aziraphale in deeper.

Aziraphale was fixated on the sight of his length disappearing into Crowley, burying himself into the root before withdrawing agonisingly slow, the pull and tightening of Crowley around him before driving back in. He looped the braid around his hand, causing Crowley to pull in closer to him, the head of his cock sliding against that spot inside Crowley. 

Crowley cried out sharply as the pleasure coursed through him like molten lava, his hips snapping back, chasing that bright spark. Aziraphale obliged, hitting his prostate again, drilling against it in short, concentrated thrusts. Crowley howled at the motion, his hands scrambling for purchase, something to grip into to stop him spinning into space. 

Aziraphale groaned as Crowley gasped and sobbed beneath him, still just managing to maintain control of his hips. A steady stream of precome dripped from Crowley and Aziraphale reached forward to gather a sample, careful to not touch Crowley's sensitive cock. He lifted it to his lips, sucking around his fingers, moaning at the salty deep taste of it.

"You are simply perfect my dear, positively scrumptious," Aziraphale breathed in his ear, continuing his relentless fucking into Crowley. 

"Thank you, Master. I'm so close, I need to come so badly," Crowley's voice was tight and strained, his body shuddering under every thrust in.

The desperate need in Aziraphale drove him harder and faster, the tight knot of arousal preparing to snap inside him as well, his balls tightening as Crowley begged for release.

"Come, then, let - let me see how much you - need it." 

He drove home with another thrust on those last two words. One of his hands was still tangled in Crowley's hair. With the other, Aziraphale tightened his grip into the flesh of Crowley's back, around the invisible join between his wings and his shoulder blades. 

Almost without further stimulation, as though he had only been waiting for permission, Crowley shuddered and went slack against the desk. He came in violent, shivering spurts, mouthing wordless syllables against the wood. And through all of it, Aziraphale kept fucking into him. His own arousal had drawn into a tight knot behind his pelvis, pulsing and waiting for release. With a last, shuddering gasp, Crowley tightened around him, and that was all it took to push Aziraphale over the edge. His orgasm washed over him with dizzying intensity, golden sparks dancing on the edge of his vision and blurring his sight. 

Aziraphale was dimly aware of the way Crowley scrambled beneath him, feet seeking for purchase. He was too busy, however, with chasing the spark of his own orgasm, to pay any attention. Not until he registered the words, cracked and raw from Crowley's parched throat, and barely louder than Aziraphale's own laboured breath. 

"Angel...  Azssssiraphale , sssstop." 

The sobering effect was instantaneous. He drew back with a gasp, and fell to his knees to come level with Crowley's ruined face, still resting against the desk. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, dear." 

Aziraphale's chest was heaving with the exertion, his heart still racing with the effort of transporting enough oxygen for support all parts of this fragile, agitated corporation. 

"Are you alright?" The answer broke across Crowley's face like a brilliant beam of sunlight. A rare sight, such bliss and relaxation in his brooding demon. 

"Perfect. Jussssst... wasssss getting a bit much."

An exhausted, spent smile spread across Crowley’s lips, wet and swollen from where his own teeth had bitten in and his cheeks flushed pink and damp. He looked turned inside out. Aziraphale could see the quaking muscles in Crowley’s thighs, no longer strong enough to support him, his weight balanced against the desk.

He looked more vulnerable, raw and beautiful than Aziraphale had ever seen him and he wanted to bundle him in his arms, stroke the wet tendrils of hair off his face, whisper soothing nothings until Crowley drifted into a fitful sleep. Aziraphale’s own heart still thundered in his ear, the air around them prickling his sensitive skin, come cooling around his cock and dripping tantalizingly down Crowley’s legs. 

“You did so well, Crowley, you remarkable thing,” Aziraphale breathed and moved to rest his forehead against Crowley’s bare hip.

Crowley chuckled, a thick and broken sound, his voice hoarse from his orgasm, yet still sweet and melodic to Aziraphale’s ears. After all that, the servitude, denial, and humiliation, Crowley still managed to find mirth and look at Aziraphale like he’d hung the moon and stars just for him. Crowley gingerly peeled himself off the desk, straightening his back, before sinking onto his knees next to Aziraphale.

“Are you all right, Angel?” Crowley asked, the air suddenly hanging heavy between them. 

The weight of everything Aziraphale wanted to tell Crowley, wanted to hear from him as well, crushed his heart. He slid down to the floor himself, resting his forehead against the desk. 

_ I’m always alright, when you’re here. You are such a marvelous gift to me. This is a game but you’re real, what I feel for you is real. And I won’t truly be okay until you know that. _

And, simultaneously: 

_ No, I’m not okay. How can I be, when I let myself cross this line again? And put both of us in danger, all for my limitless greed? _

He stiffened, unable to process the tempest of fear and love and want coursing through him. 

“Very well, thank you, Anthony.” 

Crowley, of course, was having none of it. He blinked and straightened himself up, swiping the damp hair from his face, which only drew more attention to his frown.    
  
“Cut the crap, Angel.” He leaned in, and draped his arms around Aziraphale’s stiff, unyielding form. Seemingly oblivious, he placed his chin on the angel’s shoulder, and Aziraphale couldn’t help it - he softened, just a bit, and leaned back against Crowley’s chest. “Talk to me.” 

What was there to talk about, that they hadn’t discussed a hundred times before? First, as hypotheticals, and then in the scramble of panic that followed their last close call.

“I shouldn’t have let this happen. It was foolish and it put us both at risk.”    
  
Crowley clicked his tongue, and then his fingers. With a soft, rustling noise, he drew a newly materialised blanket around Aziraphale, and sighed.    
  
“You didn’t  _ let it happen. _ We both made it happen, Angel, no way around that.” Though the words sounded harsh, his tone was soothing. “If you want me out of here, I’ll go right now, you know that. But I figure… we’re not meant to keep apart, otherwise, we’d have managed by now.” 

Aziraphale wanted to point out that this didn’t solve their problem, even in the slightest, but all he managed was a deep sigh. There seemed to be a deep, unconquerable pull keeping Crowley and himself forever gravitating towards each other, and if centuries of denial and refusal hadn’t worked, the same tactics would hardly start yielding better results now. The only thing that remained, as always, was damage control. 

Aziraphale raised his hand to miracle his clothes back on, but thought the better of it. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, and reached for the pile of cloth to pull them on by hand. 

“Well then. I better write up a convincing report. Wouldn’t want any close inquiries, would we?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

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**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Wants and Needs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053978) by [Gorillazgal86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86)




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